


I wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea

by blackkat



Series: Horoscope Drabbles [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, First Meetings, M/M, Reincarnation, implied - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 14:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17245619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: A whole empire, sunken but still standing. Years of searching, and this is finally it. Madara has finally found it.





	I wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt borrowed from Normal Horoscopes on Tumblr: Pisces: A sunken empire. Pillars of shining black salt break the waves, the deeper recesses of the grand palace lie sodden and unexplored.

There are carvings on the black pillars Madara doesn’t want to look at too closely.

“Go ahead of us. Go on while we wait for the wagons. Oh yes, _that_ will end well,” he mutters, mimicking Izuna's words with a high pitch he knows his brother would hit him for even as he wades through the shallowly breaking waves, washing across what must have been the causeway once. Or _is_ the causeway still, since the etchings Madara has seen of this place always seem to show it largely beneath the water. Inconvenient. He would almost call it uncivilized, but—

A whole empire, sunken but still standing. _Years_ of searching, and this is finally it.

He breathes out, careful, as he reaches the grand doors standing open. Waiting for him, almost, and he reaches out, touches mother-of-pearl inlays that shine in the waterlogged light, and thinks of Mito's face when he finally can provide proof that he found the lost palace. They’ve been looking for so long.

The halls are perfectly still, awash with ankle-deep seawater but perfectly unblemished. No hangings, no statues that Madara can see as he passes, but the architecture is fine enough that anything extra would be gaudy. The fading sunlight filters through windows of colorful sea glass, and pears and shells trace abstract patterns around the doorways. Madara wants to stop, to catalogue each room, but he keeps walking regardless. The grandest stories about this palace always feature the throne room, and there's an aching certainty that he needs to see it, that he won't be able to rest until he does. The knowledge drives his steps until he’s practically hurrying leaving the rest of the palace for later explanation, and—

The smooth corridor gives way to a flight of stairs, a curving balcony. Madara catches himself on a railing made of the same black salt as the pillars outside, and for an instant his lungs won't work. He can't do anything but stare.

The stairway curves down into a pool, wide and shallow, made of more sea glass in shades of white and blue. More mother-of-pearl lines the wide walkway that stretches from the bottom of the stairs across the water, perfectly dry, and beyond it—

A throne of black salt, carved with harsh lines and set with more pearls. And on it, seated with a regal air, as if he’s only closed his eyes for a moment, is a man with white hair grown long. He’s dressed in blue and silver, a sword across his lap, hands curled over the armrests of his throne, and he’s easily the most beautiful thing Madara has ever seen. Not just for the success he embodies, the legends Madara has finally, finally proven true.

Madara's steps are loud on the stairs, loud across the bridge of abalone. The lapping of the water fades away around him, white noise as he approaches the perfectly still emperor, steps right up to the dais the throne rests upon and stops, staring at him. there are lines of red inked into his cheeks across his chin—the mark of divinity, Madara has always hypothesized. A sign that the emperor is a descendant of the sea god. To think that he can finally _prove_ it, that he has the whole palace at his fingertips, is impossibly heady.

He takes a step up onto the dais, and it’s only then that he sees the emperor is still breathing. There's a sound, somewhere in the distance, like the chime of glass, or maybe a great bell, and slowly, impossibly slowly, white lashes rise.

Red eyes meet Madara's, and the emperor reaches for him. “You heard,” he says, and Madara shivers at the sound of his voice, unfamiliar and at the same time something he’s known every day of his life. He clasps the emperor’s hand, lets himself be pulled in, and breathes out a choked, ragged laugh.

“Next time, be clearer,” he says, and that pretty mouth slants in a maddening smirk before Madara kisses it away.


End file.
